The Arrest
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: Jane had always expected Lisbon to be the one to arrest him. He just hadn't expected her to be crying when she did it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any kind of profit from them.

xxx

Jane had always believed Lisbon would be the one to arrest him when he killed Red John.

He'd planned for it, in fact. When he figured out where Red John was, he would kill him. Then he would let Lisbon know what he'd done and wait for her to come pick him up and take him to whatever detention center she deemed most appropriate.

That was essentially what had happened, in the end. He'd worried from time to time that Lisbon would somehow beat him to Red John and arrest him, or find out his plans and insist on coming with him when he confronted the man. He needed to stay one step ahead of Lisbon and two steps ahead of Red John. He was aware that if he faced Red John alone, there was a possibility that the killer could end his life before he was able to exact his revenge, but that was a risk he was going to have to take. He woke up in a cold sweat sometimes with the thought that Red John could capture Lisbon or one of the team and use them to lure him into a confrontation not on his own terms. Jane knew, and he suspected Red John knew, that the one thing that could stop him from taking the killer's life would be if he held Lisbon hostage and tried to exchange his life for hers. Not that Jane believed the man would honor any such bargain, but he would be powerless to resist any hope of saving Lisbon, no matter the cost.

He knew Red John knew far more about him than he'd ever managed to glean from his own years long pursuit. Red John could access CBI mainframes at will, murder inside the CBI walls, and had always had connections in the most surprising places. At some point, Jane had realized that Red John must have eyes inside the CBI. What took him much longer to admit to himself was that anyone with eyes inside the CBI would be able to see that he, Jane, had allowed himself to do what he'd sworn he'd never do again. He'd grown attached to another individual. Well, to several, even, considering the rest of the team, but particularly to one Teresa Lisbon. He wasn't sure when the critical transition happened, but looking back, he could see that he'd grown downright sentimental, giving her a pony on her birthday, bringing her pastries in the morning, lingering in her doorway to watch her after she rolled her eyes at him and told him to go away. Lisbon, of course, had no idea the effect she had on him, but he realized that in fact, his behavior was pretty transparent. Even Rigsby had given him a knowing smile once or twice after catching him at the aforementioned lingering in the doorway. If he'd been careless enough to expose himself to someone as generally unobservant as Rigsby, certainly Red John's minions had to be aware that Lisbon had become his own sort of Achilles' heel. Therefore, it was logical to expect that at some point, Red John would try to exploit that weakness. That effort would most likely end in Lisbon taken and bound by Red John, Jane helpless before them, with Red John holding all the power.

Jane had forced himself to acknowledge all possibilities, no matter how distasteful, because that was the only way he was going to be prepared for what he faced. Red John was a person who considered all angles before he acted, and if Jane was going to have any chance of catching him, he would have to do so as well.

But everything had gone according to plan, when it came to a head. He'd found a lead, and he'd driven two hundred miles to a gravel path that wound through ancient forests and ended at a beautiful wooden house overlooking the Northern California coastline. He'd broken in, and crept through the house in search of his quarry.

He found him in the basement, the strains of Bach leading him to the man he'd dedicated his life to finding for nearly ten years. He'd thought the music was coming from a stereo, but when he opened the door, the Cello Suite No. 1 in G major was coming from a Stradivarius cello in the hands of the man himself.

He played rather well, Jane thought.

He had a confused impression of dark hair streaked with silver, a trim but powerfully built man with militarily erect posture, coal black eyes, and a handsome face. His hands were strong and sure over the strings and bow of the cello. Jane had a wild moment of self doubt at that moment, wondering if he'd made a mistake and that this man was not Red John at all. But then the man had looked up at him like he was seeing an old friend. "Hello, Patrick," he greeted him. "I've been expecting you." He smiled. "Well. One of these days, anyway." He looked past him to the door. "I see you didn't bring Teresa with you today. That's a shame. I was so looking forward to spending some quality time with her." He set his cello aside and moved towards a shelf at the side of the room.

The words were meant to provoke, to distract him, but Jane did not rise to the bait. He had come here for one purpose, and one purpose only.

The way he figured it, Red John must have assumed that if Jane ever found him, he would be obsessed with getting answers, finding final proof for himself that the man before him really was Red John. That he would want to hear the man who killed his wife and daughter describe their last moments in this world, if only for the illusory sensation of being close to them for one final instant.

It was likely also that the man believed Jane would attack him physically. After all, would revenge be as satisfying if he were deprived the sensation of feeling his enemy's life blood drain out of him under his own hands?

The answer, of course, was no. Jane had wanted to stab him like he'd stabbed Charlotte and Angela, to twist the knife, and watch him die slowly, as he'd once told Lisbon. But in the end, he'd decided that he couldn't allow himself to be directed by his desires. He had to be smart. If he'd learned anything from Red John, it was that to be a truly efficient killer, one must be disciplined.

He had all the proof he needed, or he wouldn't have come. Hearing this man speak about his wife and child's deaths would not bring him closure, and if he were so foolish as to attack this man, he would undoubtedly lose any kind of physical altercation between the two of them. To allow the killer time to react was to give him time to distract, or to attack, and that would increase the possibility that the man might escape with his life. Jane had come here to end this hunt, and he wasn't going to waste any more time that the wolf might use to his own advantage. So he pulled a gun out of his pocket and shot Red John before the man had taken two steps towards whatever weapon he undoubtedly had concealed amongst his treasures and trophies.

He shot him three times. He was no marksman, and he needed to be sure that the man had no chance of rising from this final assault.

Once Jane was convinced he was dead, he set down the gun, pulled out his cell phone, and called Lisbon.

"I need you to come get me," he said without preamble.

"Are you okay?" her voice was frantic at the other end.

"I'm fine."

The line went dead and then she was there, gun drawn and coming down the steps to the basement. Not asking him where he was or needing time to drive two hundred miles up the California coast.

She was breathing heavily, and he realized she'd been running. She'd driven as fast as possible to get there, and she'd run through the house, trying to reach him before he reached Red John, but she hadn't been fast enough.

"Hello, Lisbon," he greeted her.

Her eyes came to rest on Red John. "He's dead?"

"Yes."

She nodded, still staring at the body.

"I killed him," he added unnecessarily.

Her face twisted, and his heart wrenched accordingly.

Everything had gone according to plan. He held his hands out to her, wrists together, ready for what came next.

"God dammit, Jane," she said, a single sob wrenching from her throat. She put her gun away and pulled out her handcuffs. She clasped them on his outstretched wrists, tears streaming down her face.

He'd always expected Lisbon to be the one to arrest him.

He just hadn't expected her to be crying when she did it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and favorites! You are all too kind. Fair warning... this is a bit of a beast. Meaning it's quite long, so if you are looking for instant gratification this may not be the best place for you. This story is pretty angsty through a good portion of it but it does have a happy ending, so if you're willing to stick with it for awhile we'll get there eventually.

He was unaccustomed to seeing her cry. He raised his bound hands and gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs. "It's over, Lisbon," he said softly. "It's going to be okay."

She raised her eyes to his, still brimming with tears. "God dammit," she repeated. "How could you do this to me?"

Her words pierced his heart like shards of glass. Not, 'how could you do this?' Instead, 'how could you do this to_ me_?'

He'd spent hours upon hours, night after night, considering all the possibilities, all the potential outcomes. But he hadn't truly considered the effect this particular outcome would have on Lisbon. It seemed he'd gravely miscalculated what having to arrest him would do to his dearest friend.

"I told you I would do this," he said. What a pathetic defense. "It needed to be done."

She nodded, not in agreement, but in resignation, as though this was exactly what she expected of him.

"How did you know to come?" he asked, not wanting to think about the way seeing that expression on Lisbon's face made him feel.

"Some of that old fashioned police work you so disapprove of," she replied, and he wondered at her ability to speak so wryly when looking so sad. "I found the same lead you did and headed straight here. I hoped I could get here before you, but—" she shrugged, a defeated, heartbreaking gesture.

He nodded. There was nothing more to say to that. He gestured to the stairs with his cuffed hands. "Shall we?"

She nodded wearily. She read him his rights in a wooden voice as she guided him up the stairs and out to the gravel drive. She'd already called 911 and local PD were pulling up as they exited the building. There was the obligatory questioning about what had happened, but Lisbon took care of it all, tiredly explaining what they knew about Red John, how they had come to find him here, and what had come to pass afterwards. She left the crime scene to the local PD. CBI techs would come up and go over it in the morning.

"What do you want to do with him?" the lead officer inquired, nodding to Jane, standing docilely by Lisbon's side.

"I'm taking him back to Sacramento to make a formal statement," she said brusquely, and then took her leave of the scene.

She took Jane by the arm and led him to her vehicle. He noticed the briefest hesitation, a hitch in her stride, as it dawned on her that as a murder suspect, regulations dictated that Jane be placed in the backseat. She made a small huffing noise under her breath and opened the front door for him. She uncuffed him so he could fasten his seatbelt and then closed the restraints over his wrists once again.

It was a long drive back to Sacramento and it occurred to Jane that this was likely to be the last time he would have alone with Lisbon for quite some time. He might do well to take advantage of it, but her mouth was drawn into a thin tight line that signified she wasn't in the mood to talk and to be perfectly honest, he had no idea what he would say. So they drove for four hours in silence, and Jane was glad to have these last few hours with her despite the circumstances. He'd always thought that the only way he'd ever be at peace again was if he killed Red John. Surprisingly, it was not the man's death, but those hours of silence with the road whipping by and Lisbon at his side that gave him what measure of peace was possible for him that night.

They got back to headquarters a little after four in the morning, but the team was already there. Grace looked positively tragic and Rigsby wouldn't meet his eye. Cho, though, when Lisbon turned Jane over to him for questioning, muttered, low enough that Lisbon couldn't hear, "I'm glad you got him." Jane relaxed infinitesimally at his words, not realizing until he heard them how much he had been dreading the disappointment not just of Lisbon, but the whole team. Then Cho led him into the interrogation room, and they went about the business of his confession.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. The higher ups weren't about to let members of his own team have sole charge of the process of gathering his statement and questioning him about the details. No, there was a veritable army of agents and officers and other important personalities that traipsed in throughout the day asking the same questions.

To be quite frank, it grew tedious fairly quickly. The questions were absurdly repetitive, and despite his usual inclination, he answered them all truthfully, every time, without even making any sarcastic remarks. He could do that much for her, at least. By mid afternoon, his eyes were gritty with lack of sleep and he considered asking if he might have a nap. He thought of Lisbon, though, whom he was certain was standing behind the one way glass with a stony look on her face and a grim determination to see the whole ordeal through until the end, sleep be damned, and he merely yawned and continued to answer the questions. He hoped Rigsby would remember to get her some coffee.

Eventually the army of agents and officers got tired of their own questions, and mercifully took him to jail at last, where he promptly curled up on his cot and slept until the morning bell rang.

Lisbon visited him the next day. She hadn't fared so well the night before, he saw at once. Dark circles showed starkly under her eyes, and her mouth was turned down in a grim line.

She'd arranged for a lawyer to meet them there. The lawyer was a man named Peterson she had known during her days with the San Francisco police department. At first, he assumed the man was an old friend she'd called to ask a favor of. Thinking about this good-looking, dark-haired man happily grabbing the chance to do Teresa Lisbon a favor, Jane discovered he was jealous. However, he soon realized that Lisbon couldn't stand the man. She had only called him because he was the best criminal defense lawyer in the state. This was a fact she well knew; Peterson had gotten more criminals she'd arrested out of jail time than any other lawyer she'd ever encountered. Once Jane understood that Lisbon despised the man, he grew much more cheerful about being represented by him, and got along with him famously.

Lisbon said little during the interview, only responding shortly when Peterson asked her to clarify something about the sequence of events that had led to Red John's death. When the interview ended, she stayed still while Peterson gathered his papers in his briefcase, looking positively gleeful at the publicity this case was almost certain to attract to his firm. She pressed her palms down on the table and addressed Jane, not quite meeting him in the eye.

"Please don't try to escape." Her voice was almost…robotic, and a little too soft.

Jane blinked. He'd never intended to make any attempt to escape. "I won't," he promised. He was concerned that she didn't understand that he was prepared to face the consequences of his actions. He reached out and touched the back of her hand. "I won't try to escape. Don't worry about me, okay?"

She nodded and drew her hand away, still not meeting his eyes. "Good-bye, Jane." And then she left, without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I should mention that all courtroom scenes are not meant to be realistic imitations of how an actual trial works - I've written them more as a mechanism to allow for the exploration of certain questions about the motivations of the characters. So if you are an attorney and unrealistic representations of our justice system make you cringe, turn back now.

xxx

She didn't visit him in prison again. The rest of the team visited him faithfully, though, and he was able to glean occasional tidbits about Lisbon's welfare from them.

Rigsby ended up being the best source of information, for the most part. He'd been conflicted in the beginning, but the man wanted to believe the best of people he cared about, so it was no great task to win him over. Cho was never really against him, but his taciturn nature and keener perception of Jane's interest in Lisbon's health and happiness did not make him the best fountain of information.

Sweet Grace turned out to be the most difficult one to wrest information from. When he casually dropped in a question about how Lisbon was doing, she gave him a look meant to convey that he wasn't fooling anyone with his careless air. "If the boss wanted you to know how she was doing, I'm sure she'd tell you herself," she said coolly.

Jane was impressed. The others hadn't dared acknowledge the obvious fact that Lisbon hadn't been to see him since that first day. And Grace was defending the position he knew Lisbon would take for herself on the matter. This told him that Grace knew a lot more about Lisbon's state of mind than Rigsby or Cho did. Not from talking to her about it, though. It was more to do with a shared sensibility. Whether it was because they were both women or because of commonly held high moral values, he couldn't tell. What he could tell was that Grace was not going to give him any information unless she damn well thought he had earned the right to it.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "You have no idea what you've done to her, do you?"

Definitely it was a woman thing. He raised his eyebrows. "What?" There were those words again. What he'd done to *her.*

"You let her down, Jane," she said softly. "She had faith in you, and you let her down."

There it was. That was what he'd done to his strong, beautiful Lisbon. He could feel the truth of Grace's words resonate through his entire body, fracturing the illusions he'd constructed for himself, that she was better off without him, that she'd be fine as long as Red John couldn't hurt her anymore.

His eyes must have reflected the pain he felt at the thought, because Grace sighed and touched his arm. "Hey. Look, she's hurt right now. Really hurt. In a way that's tough to come back from. But you're important to her, Jane. She'll try, if you meet her halfway."

Jane thought of these words often in the next several weeks. How he was supposed to meet her halfway, he had no idea. But that he wanted, not her forgiveness, but for her not to be in that kind of pain because of him, he was absolutely certain.

xxx

He didn't see her in person again until the trial began. She sat in the gallery stoically, the rest of the team flanking her with anxious and protective expressions on their faces. Jane knew that while their anxiety was divided equally between himself and their boss, the protectiveness was all for her, the one who never wanted anyone to protect her.

The trial went on for weeks. Jane was quickly bored of it all, but he recognized that it was a necessary step in determining the course of his future, and it did give him the chance to observe Lisbon in person every day. She always looked tired. Those circles seemed to have taken up permanent residence under her eyes, and her freckles stood out starkly against her pale skin. She had lost weight, which concerned him. She was too slender to be able to afford to lose weight. He asked Peterson to arrange for pastries and sandwiches be delivered to the CBI at breakfast and lunch at his expense. She needed to take care of herself. Couldn't she see that this was all for nothing if she didn't take care of herself?

Peterson had come up with a hell of a defense strategy. He spent hours going through every detail of Jane's connection with Red John, and then spent even more hours painstakingly reconstructing the evidence Jane and Lisbon had found that the man Jane had killed was in fact the infamous serial killer. He'd decided to cast Jane as some kind of vigilante hero who had killed Red John to rid the world of a public menace, acting where law enforcement had failed to do so.

It was total nonsense, of course, this image of him as heroic, but Jane had agreed to go along with the idea. He had no particular desire to spend the rest of his life in prison, and he was after all paying Peterson a considerable sum of money to argue his case. He figured if Peterson could convince a jury to let him go free, then he could consider justice to have been served. Peterson may have been a snake, but he understood what Jane did about the law, which was that the most important thing about it was not the words printed on the pages of the penal code, but whether you could persuade the people in charge of enforcing that law to interpret it the same way you did.

The whole charade involved an aggressive media campaign to win public sentiment. Obviously, Jane would have preferred not to dredge up the whole awful story of the deaths of his wife and child, but he accepted this as a necessary element of the story Peterson was framing to win his freedom. Peterson was having the time of his life manipulating the press to portray Jane in the most favorable light.

Jane agreed to go along with the media campaign, but he told Peterson that he absolutely would not lie on the stand. He wasn't going to pretend that his motives were anything other than what they were. Peterson had responded that there was no way in hell he was getting within spitting distance of the stand, but Jane had insisted.

The prosecuting attorney painted a much less flattering picture of him. Jane couldn't recall all the details, but he believed the terms 'narcissistic,' 'mentally unstable,' and 'dangerous influence on those around him' were used. The gist of his argument was that Jane had manipulated the members of the law enforcement agency for which he consulted in order to pursue a personal vendetta against a man he had obsessively stalked for the better part of a decade. He had committed premeditated murder rather than share the information he had found with his colleagues and allowing the man to be tried for his alleged crimes in a court of law.

All of this was true, but Jane didn't see why the man had to sound so outraged about it. The lawyer trotted out every example he could find of what he called Jane's 'destructive behavior.' Peterson had drawn a laugh from nearly everyone in the room by offering to stipulate that Jane was a pain in the ass if it would prevent the prosecutor from dragging in every person who had ever been defrauded by or filed a complaint against his client.

Once the prosecuting attorney had established in the minds of every person in the court room that Jane was a scourge upon society, he called Lisbon to the stand.

He had no trouble painting Lisbon of the heroine of the story. Tough, smart cop who never compromised her principles, racing to the home of a killer to ensure justice was served by the long arm of the law instead of a vindictive psychopath.

Her voice was uncharacteristically soft when she answered the questions posed to her, and despite her obvious strength, it struck Jane like a blow that Lisbon, who normally gave every impression that she was capable of stopping a tank in its tracks with a look, looked oddly vulnerable up on the witness stand. She was wearing a soft jade green blouse with a ruffled neckline he didn't recognize under her usual black blazer, and her eyes looked luminous set against the color. A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over him. He could hardly take his eyes off her. When he finally dragged his eyes away to assess the expressions of the rest of the occupants of the courtroom, he realized that every male in the place was having a similar reaction to the beautiful agent. The women, though, were not responding to her breathtaking loveliness, but to the sadness in those green eyes and the slight slump in her shoulders. He wasn't sure what it was, but each of them recognized something in her that they all shared. In short, before she even opened her mouth, every person in the room was primed to hear whatever Lisbon had to say with the most sympathetic attitude possible. A fact which the prosecutor apparently had every intention of using to his advantage.

"Agent Lisbon," the man said after her identity, her relationship to Jane, and the extent of her knowledge about the Red John case had been established. "Did you ever suspect Patrick Jane intended to kill the man known as Red John?"

Lisbon shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

"What made you think that?"

"He told me he was going to."

"When was that?"

"A couple of years ago, during an unrelated investigation."

"And what did you say to him when he told you this?"

"I told him I would try to stop him, and if I failed to stop him, I would arrest him."

"When you learned the whereabouts of the man you believed to be Red John, what was your first thought?"

She hesitated. "My first thought was that I needed to get to him before Jane found out where he was."

"Why was that?"

"Because I believed Jane was going to try to kill him, and I was worried for his safety."

The lawyer blinked. "You were worried about Red John's safety?"

"No. I was worried about Jane's safety. Red John had killed at least twenty-five people that we knew of, and Jane isn't exactly known for his self-defense skills."

"But Mr. Jane has killed before. He shot a suspect with a shotgun two years ago, did he not? He has shown himself willing and able to do violence."

"Jane isn't a violent man. He hates guns, and I've never seen him raise a hand to anyone in anger. The man you're referring to shot an officer and was about to shoot me when Jane picked up the gun we'd taken off him as evidence and shot him. Jane had no reason to kill him, and every reason to keep him alive, you see, because the man knew Red John and we thought he could tell us how to find him." She smiled wryly. "You should have seen the look on Jane's face after he did it. He threw the gun away like it had cooties. He only shot Hardy to protect me, and when he did so, he saved my life."

The prosecutor ignored this. "When did you realize that Mr. Jane had also learned about the whereabouts of Red John?"

"About five minutes after I learned where Red John lived. I tried to call him to find out where he was. When he didn't answer, I realized he must have figured it out and gone after him."

"Did you tell anyone what you suspected?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I thought I could stop him before he did anything foolish."

"What did you do next?"

"I put out an APB on Jane's car and started to drive north."

"When you arrived at what you believed to be Red John's house, did you believe that you had succeeded in getting there before Mr. Jane?"

"At first, I did. I didn't see his car right away but then I saw that it was concealed among some trees off the main drive."

"What did you do next?"

"I called it in and requested backup."

"Did you wait for the backup to arrive?"

She shifted slightly in her seat. "No. I went into the house to look for Jane and Red John."

"Then what happened?"

"Jane called me and asked me to come get him."

The lawyer showed no reaction to this. "What did you find when you entered the house?"

"I went down into the basement and saw Jane and a man on the floor who had apparently been shot to death."

"Did you know Mr. Jane had a gun?"

"No."

"You said he doesn't like guns. What was your reaction to finding out you were wrong about that?"

"I wasn't wrong. Jane doesn't like guns."

"Yet he had a gun that he had purchased and registered without your knowledge. Were you surprised that he lied to you about this?"

"He didn't lie about it. He merely did not volunteer the information that he owned a gun, which he purchased legally and registered according to the law."

"Did you feel upset that he had apparently changed his position on the use of firearms?"

"No. I didn't have time to think about it at the time, but when I did think about it, I was relieved."

The lawyer wasn't expecting this. "Relieved? Why is that?"

"Because Jane told me he wanted to stab Red John like Red John had done to his wife and child. Jane isn't a fighter. Red John was an experienced killer. I was relieved that Jane didn't decide to try to stab Red John, because if he had, Red John likely would have overpowered him and killed him. I was relieved that if he had to kill him, he was smart about it."

"Do you believe that Mr. Jane was right to kill the man you both believe to be Red John?"

"No. But he believes he was right to do it, and I'm glad that since he decided he must do it, he did it smart, so Red John couldn't kill him, too."

The lawyer seemed to sense that he'd let the questioning get a little off track. "You said when you arrived at the scene, Mr. Jane was standing over the body of a man who had been shot, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did Mr. Jane admit to you that he had killed the man?"

"Yes."

"And at that point, you arrested him, correct?"

"That's correct."

"Did the gun that was found at the scene and determined to have been the murder weapon have Mr. Jane's fingerprints on it and turn out to be registered in Mr. Jane's name?"

"Yes."

The lawyer smirked. "No further questions."

He turned away, but Lisbon's voice stopped him. "May I add something?"

The lawyer, having secured all the answers he'd wanted to hear from his star witness, was inclined to indulge her. "Certainly."

Lisbon looked at Jane. Her eyes met his and his breath caught in his throat. The air between them grew so thick that every person in the courtroom stopped their fidgeting and coughing and whispering and sat up to take note. Every eye in the place was suddenly transfixed on him and Lisbon.

"Jane once sent a young woman a briefcase with $300,000 to pay her mother's medical bills." After speaking so quietly throughout most of the questioning, now her voice carried through the courtroom with the force Jane was accustomed to hearing from her. "He won the money in a poker game during an investigation. He gave it all away to help a stranger and he didn't tell a soul about it. I only found out about it because the girl called me after she got the money."

"What is your point, Agent Lisbon?" the lawyer said impatiently.

Her eyes didn't leave Jane. "Jane is a good man. He's not perfect. He used to con people for money, and I'm the first to admit he can be a royal pain in the ass sometimes. But he saves lives. And much as he would hate to admit it, he's the sort of man who sees someone who needs help and will do anything in his power to assist them. He hides what he is. He doesn't like people to notice when he commits these acts of kindness, but I know him. I see the man he really is."

The lawyer seemed to sense that this was not helping his case any. "Agent Lisbon, you are a good agent and a valuable asset to the California Bureau of Investigation, but if you think this man is anything other than a very clever con man and a calculating murderer, I'm afraid you are simply being naïve."

Lisbon finally took her eyes off Jane. She moved her eyes back to the lawyer and leveled him with a look. "I am not naïve," she said, her voice like ice. "I lost my mother when I was twelve and raised three brothers while protecting them from an abusive, alcoholic father. I've been a cop for fifteen years and I've seen more horrors in that job than anyone in this room will see in their lifetimes. I am no innocent. I'm more intimately acquainted with the good and evil in human nature than you can imagine, and I'm telling you, Patrick Jane is a good person under all the tricks and the charm." She looked back at Jane and the naked emotion in her eyes startled him. Lisbon never left herself so unguarded; the look in her eyes was arresting.

There was warmth there. No. Not warmth. Heat. And…longing. He couldn't look away.

She continued to speak, more softly now, and though her words were directed to the courtroom at large, Jane felt as though she was addressing him and him alone. "Jane is not what he believes himself to be." He recognized the soothing tone she used that never failed to calm distraught witnesses. It was hypnotic. He, along with everyone else in the room, was mesmerized by the sound of her voice and the look in her eyes. "He is kind to children, generous to his friends, and relentless in the pursuit of justice. It's true, he doesn't always respect the law. But he believes in justice, and he would never do anything he believed did not serve that higher purpose. Did he break the law? Yes. But did he serve justice?" She gave a small shrug. "That's for God to decide now."


	4. Chapter 4

The silence in the courtroom was deafening, and it took a full minute of Jane and Lisbon continuing to stare at one another for all the world like two star crossed lovers while the rest of the courtroom watched them before finally the judge recovered herself enough to clear her throat and say, "Mr. Peterson? Your witness."

Peterson smiled and leaned back in his chair. "No further questions, Your Honor."

The judge exhaled. "Let's take a short recess. You may step down, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon came down from the witness stand and the spell was broken. The room erupted into a cacophony of excited chatter as every person in the gallery immediately started discussing what had just happened. The most distinct memory Jane had of this moment was one particularly carrying whisper that sounded both scandalized and wistful saying, "Did you see the way she was looking at him?" He cared nothing for this, however. As Lisbon crossed in front of the bailiff and moved to go through the gate separating the gallery from the rest of the courtroom, he called her name. "Lisbon."

She ignored him and would have brushed past him, but he was desperate to see her eyes. He caught her by the arm before she could make her escape.

She stopped unwillingly and looked at his hand on her arm before raising her eyes to his.

Yup. Still angry.

But he didn't care about that. He had more important things to concern himself with. He opened his mouth to speak, but for once, words failed him. He stood there, holding her arm, and having absolutely no clue how to proceed.

"What do you want, Jane?" Oh, yeah. She was pissed as hell.

And realization dawned. "You did that on purpose," he breathed.

She cut her gaze away from his. "Did what on purpose?"

He was regaining his equilibrium now. He smiled. "The blouse, for one thing."

Her eyes snapped back to his. "What does my shirt have to do with anything?" she demanded.

"It matches your eyes perfectly." He stared into them. "The effect is quite breathtaking. And it has ruffles."

She wrenched her arm away and glared at him. "So?"

"Don't get me wrong, it looks quite fetching on you, but you're not exactly the ruffle type."

"Van Pelt picked it out," she said defensively.

"Yes, she would be a bit bolder about selecting something that emphasizes your best features," Jane said, nodding. "You tend to choose clothing that downplays your attractiveness. You seem to think if you wear the plainest clothing you can find, you can somehow disguise the fact that you're a beautiful woman. It never works, of course, but nobody can say you haven't tried." He shook his head. "I can't believe you let Van Pelt take you shopping. She must have been tiresomely excited about it."

A flicker in her eyes indicated that he'd hit home. It must have been very trying for Lisbon to have subjected herself to Van Pelt's girlish exuberance in a shopping mall. But that was his Lisbon. Ever willing to sacrifice her own inclinations for others. In this case, him.

Lisbon crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Is there a point to this critique of my wardrobe, or can I go back to my seat now?"

"My point, Lisbon, is that I'm impressed. Seriously. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Had what in me?"

"Don't be so modest. You played the jury like a fiddle."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on! The blouse, the speech about what a good man I am, that look across the courtroom—it was all part of an elaborate plan. Honestly, I don't think I could have come up with a better one myself. So delightfully manipulative- and the complexity! Amazing. You executed it beautifully, my dear."

Her eyes narrowed. "A plan to do what, exactly?"

Jane blinked. "To convince the jury you're in love with me, of course."

She bared her teeth at him in an expression he assumed was meant to be a sarcastic smile. It missed the mark, however, and ended up looking more like the expression she wore when she was seriously considering doing him bodily harm. "And why would I do that?"

"So they'd feel more sympathetic towards me, naturally. I mean, let's face it, I need all the help I can get."

"That part's true enough," Lisbon muttered.

"I must say, you made quite the romantic figure up on that witness stand. Utterly irresistible. You calculated every move didn't you? Of course they would see immediately that you're the strong, honest cop everyone was saying you are, but you contrasted it so nicely with that trace of vulnerability, that doe-eyed look that made every one of them want to protect you. And by extension, what you cared about." He gestured to himself.

"You egotistical, self-centered son of a bitch," she seethed. "If we weren't in a court of law, I'd shoot you myself."

His blue eyes looked into hers searchingly. "Why'd you do it? You believe I deserve to go to jail, I know you do. So why would you purposefully make a room full of strangers believe you feel that way about me in order to make them more sympathetic to my situation?"

She looked at him with a familiar expression halfway between annoyance and flat out rage. "You're an idiot."

She walked away from him and out through the courtroom doors without a backward glance, the door swinging violently closed in her wake.

xxx


	5. Chapter 5

Jane was too busy trying to decipher the significance of Lisbon's unexpected but highly flattering speech about him to pay much attention to the prosecutor's questions once it was his turn on the stand. He answered the man's questions distractedly but truthfully, but he kept his eyes trained on the back door so he wouldn't miss her reappearance. She didn't come back until about halfway through the prosecutor's cross examination of him. He relaxed infinitesimally when she came back in and sat down in the back row. He stared at Lisbon the whole rest of the time the prosecutor kept him on the stand. He wished she would meet his eyes again, but she kept her eyes empty and her gaze trained on the prosecutor.

When Peterson came to question him, though, he forced himself to abandon his search for clues in Lisbon's face and pay attention to what the man was asking him. Peterson had already spent quite a bit of time outlining the evidence Jane and Lisbon had found that indicated that the man Jane had killed was in fact Red John. It was compelling. Irrefutable, even. Jane doubted a single person in the courtroom believed that there was the slightest chance that the man he had shot was anyone other than Red John. That was the groundwork Peterson had laid; the questioning of Jane, once he'd resigned himself to his client testifying, was now going to be the big finish.

"Mr. Jane," Peterson began. "Please tell the court about Red John in your own words."

"Red John was a serial killer. He killed at least twenty five people that the authorities are aware of."

"How do you know the same person killed all those people?"

"Red John had a distinct style of killing. He had a pattern that he followed. He killed women and cut them the same way every time, and then painted a smiley face on the wall in the victim's blood as a type of signature. He always followed that pattern unless he had a compelling reason not to."

"Can you tell us about times he deviated from the pattern you describe?"

"The first time he deviated from the pattern was when he killed my wife and child."

"How did that deviate from the pattern?"

"His choice of victims. He didn't normally kill children, and my wife didn't fit the profile of his normal victims."

"How do you know it was him then?"

"The style of killing was the same. The smiley face was on the wall when I came home. And he left a note."

"Why did he deviate from his pattern in this instance?"

"To get back at me."

"Why was that?"

"At the time, I had been making my living by pretending to be a psychic. I had a show on TV and I boasted that I could catch Red John with my psychic skills. He didn't like that, and he killed my wife and child as revenge."

Peterson paused to let this sink in for the jury, then said, "Then what happened?"

"Nothing."

Peterson raised his eyebrows. "Nothing?"

"The police couldn't find him. The investigation was stalled indefinitely."

"And what happened to you?"

Jane's mind went blank for a moment before he could answer. He could see where Peterson was going with this, the bastard. "I quit pretending to be a psychic."

"What did you do with your time in the first few months after Red John's attack on your family?"

Drank himself into a stupor night after night in a vain effort to numb the pain. Read every word ever written about Red John. Hounded the officers in charge of the investigation for information until they threatened to put out a restraining order on him. Stopped sleeping. Imagined in obsessive detail what Angela and Charlotte's last few moments on earth must have been like, over and over. Cursed himself to hell for having been the cause of their suffering. He cleared his throat. "I grieved."

"Where were you during this time of grief?"

"At my home in Malibu. And at a mental hospital."

"Do you mind telling the court why you were at this mental facility?"

He sure as hell did mind, but he could hardly do anything about it now. "I was diagnosed with acute depression and was kept there because the physicians on staff believed I had suicidal tendencies."

"Did you?"

"I never tried to kill myself, if that's what you're asking. But yes, I wanted to die. Naturally, I considered suicide. Most people would, I believe, if they had had something so perfect taken from them and the only thing they were left with was the knowledge that it was completely their fault that it was taken."

"What made you change your mind? What made you check yourself out of that mental hospital and decide you wanted to live?"

"I decided I had to make Red John pay for what he'd done. I told myself I wouldn't rest until I'd taken from him what he'd taken from my wife and child and make sure he could never do to another family what he'd done to mine."

"In other words, you wanted revenge."

Jane smiled coolly. "Precisely."

"So you decided to offer your considerable mental acumen and unique skills of observation and persuasion to the authorities to help with the Red John case."

"That's correct."

"When you offered to help with the Red John case, did you intend to assist on other cases?"

"No. I wanted to focus on the Red John case."

"But you agreed to help out with other cases at the request of the CBI, correct?"

"Yes."

"You've worked with the CBI about seven years, right?"

"Yes."

"How many cases have you been part of solving during that time?"

"I have no idea."

"The answer, Mr. Jane, is four hundred and thirty seven."

"If you say so."

The prosecutor got to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. What is the relevance of this?"

Peterson raised an eyebrow. "Your Honor, my counterpart has gone to great lengths to paint my client as a man who has single-mindedly pursued his quest for revenge to the exclusion of any other interest. I am merely attempting to give the jury a more balanced understanding of my client's character."

The judge considered this. "I'll allow it," she said at last. "Go on, Mr. Peterson."

"Thank you." Peterson turned back to Jane. "So, Mr. Jane, you and your team have been responsible for putting over four hundred murderers behind bars over the years, give or take a few, is that right?"

"I suppose."

Peterson raised his eyebrows. "Aside from the man you shot trying to protect your partner, did you ever kill any of them?"

"No."

"Ever want to?"

Jane thought about this. "Not really."

"Why not?"

Jane shrugged. "For most killers, being sent to jail and having to live with what they've done is enough."

"But Red John isn't just any killer, is he? What makes him so different from all those other killers you've helped to catch?"

Jane was getting impatient. "Besides what he did to my family, he was a psychopath and a serial killer. He was never going to feel remorse for the things he'd done. Killing wasn't just what he'd done, it was what defined him. He killed people in jail and even within the walls of the CBI. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have continued to kill from behind bars, if by some miracle anyone had been able to catch and keep him there."

"Let's talk about that."

"Talk about what?" Jane said irritably. The man was getting on his nerves.

"You said he killed people in police custody and people within CBI walls. Can you explain?"

"Two years ago, Agent Sam Bosco and his team were gunned down in CBI headquarters by one of Red John's followers to prevent them from discovering evidence against him."

"Gunned down? Did this person break into the CBI and go on a shooting spree?"

"No. She had a job as Sam Bosco's assistant."

"She was an employee of the California Bureau of Investigation?"

"Yes."

"Can you give us some more details about Sam Bosco and the other people targeted in that attack?"

"Sam Bosco and his team were assigned to the Red John investigation at the time."

"And she was caught and arrested for murdering him and his team. Once she'd been caught, was she helpful in leading you to Red John?"

"No. Once she was arrested, Red John killed her to prevent her from giving useful evidence to the authorities."

"So you're saying even after she was arrested, Red John was able to kill someone in police custody."

"Not just in custody. He killed her in the presence of two armed guards."

"That wasn't the only time he killed someone in police custody, was it?"

"No. He also killed a man named Todd Johnson while he was in a holding cell in the CBI."

"How did Red John kill Mr. Johnson?"

"By setting him on fire."

"I see." Peterson shifted tactics. "Red John had a very singular relationship with you, didn't he?"

"You could say that."

"Why do you think that was?"

"I taunted him on national television. He wanted to get back at me."

"That's how the relationship began. Why did it continue for so long afterwards?"

"I made it my mission to find him."

"That explains your side of the relationship. What about his? He killed your wife and child. He could hardly do anything worse to you after that. Why didn't he leave you alone after that? Better yet, why didn't he kill you, too, and have done with it? He had several opportunities to kill you over the years. Why didn't he take them?"

Jane shrugged uncomfortably. "I amused him. Red John was highly intelligent. He was used to being able to outsmart all the people around him with very little effort. I believe he found my efforts to catch him stimulating. He liked to toy with me."

Peterson nodded. "Can you give an example of this?"

"He saved my life once. Two college kids who had killed one of their classmates captured me and were trying to kill me. Red John killed them to keep me alive."

"Why do you think he saved your life?"

"He enjoyed making me suffer. If he killed me, my suffering would end, and would provide no more food for his soul."

"He had kidnapped a woman by the name of Kristina Frye around that time, hadn't he?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe your relationship to Ms. Frye?"

"I met her while working on a case. She believed she was psychic and she helped us out on another couple of cases after that."

"What was your personal relationship to her?"

"I went out on a date with her once, right before she was taken."

"And when Red John saved your life, what did he say to you?"

"He recited part of a William Blake poem and told me Kristina would want him to give me her love."

"Why do you think he said that?"

"Because he liked knowing he could cause me pain. He knew I would feel guilty about Kristina being taken."

"Why would you feel guilty about her being taken?"

"Because at least part of the reason he took her was because I cared about her."

"Mr. Jane, do you find it difficult to trust people?"

"I have been told I have trust issues," Jane acknowledged.

"What about law enforcement?"

"I don't trust organizations. Organizations are made up of individuals, some of whom may be untrustworthy."

"Rebecca Slater, the woman who killed Sam Bosco and his team, worked for CBI. Mr. Hardy, the man you shot to save your partner's life, was a sheriff. Both of them worked for Red John." Peterson paused. "These people were helping to execute Red John's plans under the guise of authority. Does that make it especially difficult for you to trust members of law enforcement?"

"I suppose."

"Is there anyone you do trust?"

Jane's eyes involuntarily sought Lisbon in the back of the room. "I trust my team."

"Tell the court the names of the members of your team."

"Kimball Cho, Wayne Rigsby, Grace Van Pelt, and Teresa Lisbon."

"And you care about them, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You're close?"

"I guess."

"The five of you are kind of like a makeshift family, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," Jane said grudgingly. Lisbon must have fed him that line.

Peterson shrugged with affected carelessness. "Would you say you're closer to any one member of the team than the others?"

If he didn't end up spending the rest of his life behind bars, Jane was going to kill Peterson. "I've known Lisbon the longest."

Peterson nodded. "Right. The woman for whom you were willing to give up the most promising chance you'd had to find Red John in years in order to save her life."

"Mm," Jane said noncommittally.

Peterson paused. Jane had to hand it to him. He certainly had a flair for the dramatic. "Mr. Jane, what is your single biggest regret?"

"Allowing my family to be hurt because of me," Jane answered promptly.

Peterson nodded, content to let this germinate in the minds of the jury while he continued to build his argument. "We've established that Red John took a particular delight in targeting people you care about in order to make you suffer. And your team, this new family you grew to trust and care for over the years. Did you ever worry that Red John might come after them?"

"Yes."

"But they're cops. They can protect themselves. You can't have worried that much that Red John would be able to do anything to them."

"Cops aren't bullet proof. And they certainly wouldn't have been safe if Red John had decided to go after them. Of course I worried about my team. I worried constantly."

"So, to summarize: Red John liked to target people you cared about because he enjoyed making you suffer. He had followers among police officers and CBI employees, and was capable of killing within the highly protected walls of the CBI headquarters. You're convinced that Red John would have continued to kill even if he was arrested. And you were concerned that as long as he was alive, there was a chance he would have tried to kill one of the members of your team."

"Yes."

Peterson turned away from Jane. "Your Honor, the defense would like to enter Exhibits A through M as evidence."

Jane's heart rate spiked but he forced his heart to slow down. Peterson hadn't told him about Exhibits A through M.

After receiving the judge's permission, Peterson gave a nod to two of his lackeys, who produced a series of enlarged photographs which they proceeded to arrange so they were visible to most of the courtroom.

Jane, from his position on the witness stand, wasn't able to see quite all of them, but he could see that they were all photographs of the members of the Serious Crimes unit. The five of them at a crime scene, Cho taking notes, Grace taking a photograph of the body, Rigsby flagging evidence to be processed by forensics, Jane with his hands in his pockets looking off to one side, and Lisbon, the clear leader, looking like she was midway through barking orders to her team.

There were several more of all five of them, variations on a theme, for the most part. Most were at different crime scenes, but there was one of them taken through the window of a restaurant. Jane recognized the place; it was a restaurant they went to often after closing a case. In this shot, they were obviously off duty, relaxed and easy. They were all laughing at Jane, who had apparently just finished performing some kind of card trick. There were a couple of Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt entering and exiting various cars and buildings. There was one of Van Pelt and Rigsby standing a little too close to one another and clearly enjoying it. There was even one of Cho and Elise walking down the street together, walking hand in hand.

There were several of Lisbon alone. Lisbon leaving her apartment. Lisbon coming out of a coffee shop. Lisbon at the shooting range. Lisbon in running shorts and a tank top, limbs extended in a breathtaking vision of speed and grace as she ran along the waterfront.

And then there were the ones of Jane and Lisbon. Oh, the team made appearances in a few of those, but the focus of the subject matter was clear. Jane picking up Lisbon's wrist to look at her watch while she spoke to Van Pelt. The two of them standing side by side while interviewing a witness. There was a disturbingly intimate one of the two of them in her office late at night, Jane stretched out on her couch with his eyes closed, with Lisbon working on some paperwork at her desk in the background, the office bathed only in the dim glow of her desk lamp, turned down low so as not to disturb him.

It was the mundane nature of this last scene that distressed him. It could have been any one of a thousand nights, and they were so obviously unaware of being observed. Jane had no idea who might have taken the photo, or how they had managed to get such an intimate shot.

There was one of Lisbon talking to Cho at a crime scene, the traces of a smile on her face. Jane was watching her with a pleased smile on his face. He could tell he had been teasing her and was savoring the victory of having elicited a hard-won smile from his tough as nails supervising agent. But it wasn't his smile that was so striking. It was the look in his eyes, soft and light. For her. He felt a stab of discomfort. Did he really look at Lisbon like that? The tender expression on his face was utterly foreign to him. But he recognized the feeling that accompanied it as one familiar to him, associated as it was with a sensation he felt in Lisbon's presence quite often.

He was a master of lies and deception, but apparently he didn't hide himself as well as he thought. Because it was criminally obvious based only on this one look that he cared for this woman as far more than a comrade in arms. Oh, he'd realized some time ago that his affection for her must be apparent to others. He thought he'd accounted for it, in his plans. But for once, the joke was on him, because he'd had no idea of how deep those feelings ran until he saw them displayed in this courtroom on an image of his own face.

Then he saw the last one. This one was a shot of him and Lisbon in the CBI parking lot at night, lit by the light of a streetlamp overhead. He had walked Lisbon to her car, and they had lingered by her door, talking. This, like the one of them in her office, was a scene he recognized as having occurred on more than one occasion. They were laughing into each other's eyes and Jane had the absurd thought that it looked like he'd been about to kiss her.

It was a sweet photograph. They looked happy. In some ways, he was glad there was a photograph of this moment. It was evidence that despite the worries that weighed so heavily on them both day in and day out, from time to time, they managed to snatch a rare moment of peace and comfort from each other. That amongst ever present shadows, light still managed to shine through. He might have considered asking Peterson for a copy of it, except for one thing.

Beneath the image of her smiling face, someone had taken a red marker and drawn a small red smiley face over Lisbon's heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Jane thought he was going to be sick. "Where did you get these?" he demanded.

He could see Peterson struggling to restrain an expression of triumph at this obvious display of emotion available for the jury's consideration. He wanted to smack him. Peterson ignored him, and addressed the jury. "Copies of these photographs were found in the home of the man Patrick Jane killed. There were over two thousand pictures of Mr. Jane and his team, taken at different times over the span of several years. What you see here is a selection of photographs from that collection."

He paused again, exercising once more that flair for the dramatic. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I would like you to look at these photographs and ask yourselves why someone would have taken these photographs. Why would a man be so obsessed with these five individuals that he familiarized himself with every aspect of their daily routines? Are these the obsessive relics of a deranged but harmless man, or were these pictures taken by a man stalking his prey? I want you to ask yourselves whether it is remotely plausible that a man would have had these pictures taken of these people, agents of the law, for any reason other than in preparation to harm them. And whether, given the fact that the man who possessed these photographs was a well known serial killer, that harm was likely to have consisted in anything less than deadly force." He picked up the photograph with the smiley face over Lisbon's heart and brought it closer to the jury. "Look at this photograph in particular. I want you to look at this photograph and ask yourselves whether this image could possibly constitute anything besides a deadly threat from a highly dangerous man."

He put the photograph down. "If you believe that threat was real and imminent, I want you to consider whether Patrick Jane was justified in taking any action he deemed necessary to ensure this threat could never be carried out."

Peterson walked back to the defense table and addressed the judge. "I have no further questions for Mr. Jane, Your Honor."

The judge raised her eyebrows at the prosecutor. "Your witness, counselor."

The prosecutor got to his feet and approached the witness stand. "Mr. Jane, when you broke into another man's home and killed him, were you aware of the existence of these photographs?"

"No."

"Mr. Jane, was the man you killed ever convicted of any crime?"

"No."

"Do you admit you broke into this man's home with the intention of killing him?"

"Yes."

"Did you then shoot this man three times without giving him a chance to defend himself?"

"Yes."

The lawyer spread his hands. "No further questions."

The closing arguments followed soon after this.

The prosecutor went first. He addressed the jury solemnly. "Ladies and gentlemen, the facts of this case are simple. Mr. Jane has admitted that he broke into a man's home with the intention of shooting him. He admits that he was motivated by revenge. There is no question that Patrick Jane killed this man. He has never made any attempt to deny that he killed this man in cold blood. Regardless of who Mr. Jane believed him to have been, the fact remains that he was never convicted of any crime in a court of law. And even if he was who Mr. Jane says he was, that does not give him the right to take the law in his own hands. Even if Mr. Jane thinks he's above such things, you, as agents of the court, are bound to honor the law. And when a man breaks into another man's home with the intention of killing him, and then shoots him to death, the law does not recognize this as vigilante justice. The law calls this what it is: nothing less than premeditated murder. The defense can dress it up however they want, but don't let any amount of sophisticated legal tap dancing distract you from the truth. Do not let Patrick Jane make a mockery of our justice system. Patrick Jane murdered a man, and he must now pay the price the law demands for that act."

Peterson took his turn next. He stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled at the jury, looking utterly at ease. "It would be nice if life were as simple as my colleague here makes it out to be, wouldn't it? But we all know that life has its shades of gray, in addition to the black and white picture my colleague presents. Red John killed Patrick Jane's wife and child, a fact which has haunted him every day for over eight years. This event changed my client profoundly. He quit his act as a psychic and committed his life to bringing criminals to justice. But he also stopped sleeping. He literally could not rest knowing that the man who had so brutally murdered his family was still at large and could continue to hurt other people.

"It's true that the man my client killed was never convicted of a crime. Yet no one has contested that the man my client killed was in fact the brutal serial killer known as Red John. We've presented you with substantial evidence that he was none other than the man who called himself Red John, who killed at least twenty five people, including my client's family.

"The fact is, this man was never convicted of a crime because he was too good to be caught. He had a vast network of followers destroying evidence and killing officers of the law on his behalf to ensure he would never be prosecuted in a court of law. This man killed my client's family and then proceeded to torment him for years afterwards. He killed four of my client's colleagues and kidnapped a woman after he'd gone out with her for one date. He was fixated on my client and determined that his suffering should continue as long as it was in his power to make him do so.

"My client was the only person he'd ever crossed paths with who was smart enough to engage him intellectually. The only one who had any chance of figuring him out. The only one who could challenge him. If by any chance Mr. Jane did succeed in catching him and having him arrested, he would not have gone quietly. As my client said, killing defined Red John. He would not have given up murder just because he was in jail. The fact is, my client is the only person who could have caught Red John, and killing him was the only way to stop him.

"My client, understandably, has become more guarded over the years. After all he has been through, Patrick Jane doesn't trust people easily. He doesn't allow himself to get close to people. The only people he could truly trust never to work with Red John against him were the members of his team at the CBI. And once Red John realized this, he put the team under surveillance to acquire the knowledge of how he could most easily capture and kill these individuals at a time when he decided it would do the most damage to my client.

"Ladies and gentlemen, California law provides that a man may kill another person in self defense or in defense of others. For that to be a viable defense, the following circumstances must hold true: there must be a threat of danger to yourself or others, that threat must be imminent, and the action taken must be in proportion to the threat."

"Red John terrorized my client in ways none of us can imagine. He established a pattern of killing those people closest to my client. He demonstrated that he could kill within the confines of a high security facility. He killed over twenty-five people, and he would not have stopped killing if put behind bars."

Peterson gestured to the picture of Lisbon with the smiley face over her heart. "Ladies and gentlemen, there was a very real threat against the people my client loves, and that threat was imminent. Red John might have attacked at any time and taken away another person my client loves. My client knew that the people he cared about would never be safe as long as Red John was alive. The only way to secure the people he cared about from that threat was to get to Red John before he got to them."

"There was a threat to the lives of others," Peterson repeated. "That threat was imminent. And the only way to counter that threat was through the use of deadly force. I submit to you that my client is innocent of murder and was fully justified in killing a man in the defense of others. My client took a life, yes, but God only knows how many more lives he saved by doing so. My client had confidence in his convictions and the courage to act on them. Because of what my client did, we can all sleep a little safer in our beds tonight, knowing that Red John can never do to us or to our families what he did to Mr. Jane's wife and child. I ask that in exchange, you return a verdict of not guilty."

And then it was over. The jury filed out to deliberate, and Peterson kept up a stream of annoyingly unconcerned chatter about the trial's possible outcomes. The man was utterly free of tension. He seemed to have no investment in the outcome other than whether he could count it in his own personal 'win' column. Jane found his lack of effort to convince him that he cared about his fate personally oddly reassuring. It spared him having to fake emotion he didn't feel in response. He didn't feel anything at all. He was curiously numb. For once, there was absolutely nothing he could do but wait. There weren't any schemes or tricks he could pull to influence the outcome at this point. It was oddly freeing, this lack of control.

He longed to turn back in his seat and look at the team. To give Grace a cheeky wink, to see Rigsby give him an awkward thumbs up, and Cho give him an expressionless nod of acknowledgement. But truthfully, he couldn't face looking into Lisbon's green eyes right now. Walking into a serial killer's lair? No problem. He'd done it without breaking into a sweat. Looking into Lisbon's eyes while they waited for his fate to be decided by twelve strangers? He was too much of a coward.


	7. Chapter 7

The jury deliberated for twenty minutes. Peterson seemed pleased about this, but Jane really had no idea whether it was a good or bad thing that they'd taken so little time to come to a consensus on the verdict.

A small, chubby man the jury had selected as foreman read the verdict. Jane could tell at a glance at his rumpled jacket with the crisply ironed handkerchief folded in the breast pocket that this was a family man who worked hard to support his wife and children, who were the light of his life. He was likely a desk jockey of some kind, but in a field he cared about. Probably spent most of his time behind the scenes, though, because the way he was licking his lips indicated he was nervous. Not because of the words he was about to say, but at the prospect of addressing them to a large audience. He was a good, kind man. Jane wouldn't hold a grudge against him if he told the judge the jury believed he should spend the rest of his life in jail.

He cleared his throat when the judge indicated it was time for him to speak, and he delivered the verdict in a rich tenor voice that made Jane suspect he spent his leisure time wearing a striped jacket and singing in a barbershop quartet. "On the count of first degree murder, the jury finds the defendant not guilty."

Jane, who never missed anything, and who furthermore had been listening quite attentively for this man's disposition of his future, had an insane moment where he thought he might have to ask someone to repeat what the man had said, because he was convinced he had misheard.

The man continued. "The jury finds furthermore that the defendant is innocent of wrongdoing, as he acted in the defense of the lives of others."

It was true. Peterson's harebrained scheme had worked, and he had convinced the jury that what Jane had done was right, and that he should walk away a free man.

Now Jane turned. Rigsby was pumping his fist in a gesture of victory. Cho leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Van Pelt was clasping her hands in an attitude of prayer and smiling as she directed her gaze skyward.

Lisbon's face, for once, betrayed very little about her feelings at this moment. Her expression was curiously blank, her gaze riveted on the jury foreman. But Jane thought he detected her shoulders slumping ever so slightly in relief—that it was over, at the very least.

It was much harder to extricate himself from the court than he'd anticipated, once it was all over. He saw Lisbon leave and moved to follow, but Peterson told him he had to sign some papers before he could leave. Then once they finally made it out to the court steps, the press mobbed the two of them. Jane tried to brush them off by stating loudly that he had nothing to say, but Peterson did have things to say, and he held onto Jane's elbow with a surprisingly strong grip, determined to have the evidence of his legal prowess available for photographic documentation by the press. It was amazing, really, how much lawyers craved attention.

Finally, Jane was forced to step on the man's foot to initiate his escape. A crude tactic, but effective. Peterson's grip loosened as he winced in surprise and Jane doubled back inside the courthouse. He lifted a badge from a guard in under five seconds and wound his way through the maze of corridors in an ever more confounding pattern to prevent anyone from following him. Then he found a side door and slid out the exit with no one the wiser, the pilfered badge left hanging lightly on the inside door handle.

Lisbon was there, leaning against her car with her arms folded across her chest, waiting for him.

His heart leapt in his chest for reasons he couldn't fully explain. "Hi," he said stupidly.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you could use a ride."

"How'd do you know where I'd come out?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "I knew you'd want to avoid the cameras. There were way too many reporters for you to push your way through, so I figured you'd head back inside and escape out the side door."

Damn. He was becoming positively predictable.

"That's very thoughtful of you." He looked her up and down, noting the tension in her shoulders and the downturning of her full mouth. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." This said gruffly, with her eyes averted. Typical Lisbon answer.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. "I guess I should thank you."

This in turn, made Lisbon predictably uncomfortable. She hated it when people acknowledged her doing anything smacking of a personal favor. "Yeah, well, I didn't want you to be stranded without a way to get home."

He smiled with difficulty. "I was actually referring to what you did in the courtroom."

"What do you mean?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You know, the whole staring at me longingly to convince the jury to let me go free thing."

She scowled. "You're still on about that?"

"Well, it was fairly dramatic."

"Peterson made a convincing argument, that's all. The jury's decision had nothing to do with me."

He shook his head slowly. "No. You were the one who persuaded them. Peterson just gave them a legitimate sounding excuse to find me innocent."

"Yeah, right."

He looked at her curiously. "Tell me something. If you had been on that jury, would you have cast your vote in favor of my innocence?"

She snorted. "Are you kidding? I'd have said you were guilty as hell."

"Precisely. Which is why it is intriguing to me that you did everything in your power to keep me from going to jail."

"All I did was find you a lawyer," she insisted.

"I think we both know that's not true." He looked at her searchingly. "What made you decide to do it? To help me. And please don't bother denying it. "

She sighed, giving in, just like she always did, when it came to him. "I wanted you to face justice. I never said I wanted you to go to jail. If twelve of your peers were foolish enough to set you free, there's hardly anything I can do about it, is there?"

"And the scheme?"

She shrugged. "I told myself I wouldn't lie for you. Anything else was fair game."

He realized how much it must have cost Lisbon to display that depth of emotion to a room full of strangers. Lisbon, who preferred to keep things all business, all the time, who didn't even let the people closest to her see what was inside her unless she could help it, had let fifty people see her looking raw and exposed. She'd let them see her looking like her pain in the ass consultant meant something to her. And not just something. More than anything.

And now she looked exhausted and sad. He hated it when Lisbon was sad.

He must cheer her up. He looked at her closely.

He didn't think a soft shoe routine was going to work this time.

He considered his options. He could try to draw her out gently, get her to tell him all about every emotion she'd kept bottled up inside since his arrest.

But that would be a tedious, unimaginative way of doing things. Plus, he wasn't entirely certain he would succeed. Lisbon could be tiresomely stubborn when it came to expressing her emotions.

No, there was a time for deft, subtle manipulation. And there was a time for a full scale direct assault. The kind where you held nothing back.

He stepped forward, and kissed her.


	8. Chapter 8

His hand buried itself in her dark, wavy hair; the other settled at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.

For five glorious seconds, all Jane knew was the rich, heady taste of her and the sublime sensation of her mouth against his.

Then she pressed her hands to his chest and shoved him away from her with all of her might.

He stumbled backwards several steps, barely avoiding the indignity of falling on his backside.

Her eyes were wide with rage. "What the hell, Jane!" It was possible he'd never seen her more angry, and that was saying something.

Jane, on the other hand, was feeling decidedly cheerful. He licked his lips and tasted her on them. Something shifted inside him, as though fragments that had been inside him for years aligned themselves like puzzle pieces suddenly coming together to form a complete picture.

He'd had time enough in prison that he'd occasionally wondered what he was going to do with himself if he didn't end up staying in jail the rest of his life. He was a man who needed purpose in his life. For the past eight years, his purpose had been to find Red John and destroy him. Before that, it had been building a perfect world for his wife and child to live in. Even when he was younger, he'd been driven by the need to get away from his father. Now, all that was gone. Clearly, he needed a new purpose in life.

He looked at Lisbon, eyes flashing and lips swollen.

Yes, this would do nicely.

"What the hell was that?"

Convincing her was going to be fun. "I should think that was obvious."

"Jesus, Jane, did it ever occur to you to ask permission before you do something like that?" Of course, there were a few things they needed to work through before she was likely to be amenable to stepping into the role he had in mind for her. She'd need to get out a lot of that rage before they'd be able to move on to this next phase in their lives.

"If I'd asked for your permission to kiss you, what would you have said?"

"I would have said no!"

"Exactly. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, that's what I always say."

"Yet you never *do* ask for forgiveness."

"I do so. When the occasion warrants it."

"Are you planning to ask me for forgiveness now?"

"Certainly not. That kiss was absolutely necessary. I'm not about to apologize for it."

"What in God's name made you think that was necessary?"

"You're upset, and have been for a long time. I was just doing what I could to remedy that."

"What, you think you can just kiss it and make it all better?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes."

She turned a look on him that forcibly reminded him of a lioness preparing to attack an enemy. "Newsflash, Jane. I'm still upset."

"Ah, yes, but now you're mad upset, not sad upset."

"And in your mind, this is an improvement?"

"Of course. Anger is much more comfortable territory for you, especially when it comes to me."

She collapsed against the door of the car, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You should have pled insanity, you know that?"

"Meh." He rubbed his hands together. "All right, now that you're more relaxed—" he ignored Lisbon's strangled noise of protest—"Let's move on to other business, shall we?"

"What business?" she asked suspiciously.

"You're mad at me. We should work through that."

Lisbon looked as though she'd like to work through it with the use of her fists on his person, and he surreptitiously took a half a step back.

He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "First step- I do owe you an apology."

She straightened her jacket and looked slightly mollified. "I'm glad you recognize that," she said stiffly.

He really didn't deserve her. He inched back towards her and took her hand. "I'm sorry, Lisbon."

"For kissing me?" she said uncertainly.

"No, we've already established I'm not sorry about that. I'm sorry about the other thing."

"You're sorry about killing Red John?" she said disbelievingly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't regret killing Red John. I'm sorry you were hurt by what I did."

She pulled her hand away. "Yeah, well."

He cast a critical eye over her, gauging her reactions. "I do feel better now. After killing him, I mean. I wasn't certain that I would. But I'm definitely glad I killed him."

"That's what disturbs me." She was growing visibly upset by his lack of remorse.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Lisbon. Not about this. I don't regret what I did, but I want you to know, what Peterson said… it wasn't all smoke and mirrors."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't just about revenge. Don't get me wrong, revenge was a big part of it, but it stopped being just about revenge some time ago. I was telling the truth in the courtroom. I really did want to protect you."

Her chin lifted stubbornly. "I've told you a thousand times I don't need your protection."

"My God, Lisbon. Didn't you see that photograph? Of course you needed protection. He could have taken you at any time, and then there would I have been? I would have been helpless, completely at his mercy. The only hope we had was for me to get to him first."

She sighed. "You took a terrible risk, Jane."

"I did what was necessary. That's all."

"You should have told me what you were planning."

"You would have tried to stop me."

"You're damn right I would have, but that doesn't change the fact that you should have told me when you found out where he was. We were in this together so long, Jane. And at the end, you shut me out."

"For your own good!"

"You shut me out," she repeated. "Just like you always do."

He blinked. "I don't shut you out."

"At least once a case, I ask you what you're planning, and you smile and lie to my face."

"That's completely different. Besides, even then it is still for your own good. I don't want your career to be in jeopardy because of something I've done."

She smiled bitterly. "You always say that, but it never feels like it's for my own good. It feels like a cold, iron door slamming in my face."

Jane's insides twisted painfully at her words. "You really feel like that?"

"Yes, Jane, I do." She hesitated. "And… I'm just not sure I can go along with all of it anymore."

He nearly stopped breathing. "Go along with what?"

"The tricks, the lies, the lack of respect for the law." She sighed. "I'm tired, Jane. I'm tired of feeling like I can't trust the person I spend most of my waking hours with."

"You can trust me, Lisbon."

"Yet you don't trust me enough to confide your plans to me. It's got to be a two way street, Jane. Why can't you see that?"

He was getting irritated now at what he perceived as her willful misunderstanding of his motives. "You know there's no one I trust more than you. I may not always tell you what I'm doing, but only when it's in your best interests."

"You don't get to decide that! I can worry about what's in my best interests myself."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to stop trying to protect you. We're friends. It's absurd of you to expect me not to care about what happens to you."

"I thought we were. Lately, I've been wondering how we can be friends when you will never value the things that are most important to me."

"How can you say that? We value the same things, Lisbon."

"Your main pleasures in life revolve around tricks, lies, and an utter disregard for the law I swore to dedicate my life to upholding."

"We both value justice, Lisbon. It's just that we approach the delivery of justice differently."

"Yes, and your way is to shoot a man in cold blood!"

His jaw tightened. "I'm not going to apologize for that, Lisbon. If I had to do it again, I'd do the exact same thing."

She looked furious. "I know you would, you bastard."

This wasn't getting them anywhere. He needed to steer her back to common ground. He took her hand again. "Listen, Lisbon…"

"What?" she snapped. But she didn't pull her hand away.

"Do you know why I called you that night?"

"What, when you killed Red John?"

"Yes."

"I—" she stopped. "I thought you were hurt, at first. But I guess I never really thought about it after I found you."

"I called you to come and arrest me."

She looked at him. "You knew I was going to arrest you?"

"Of course. You told me you would."

"Since when do you listen?"

He ignored her. "And the trial… you know I did that for you, right?"

"Yeah, right." She extricated her hand from his again and ran her fingers through her hair, looking agitated.

He fixed her with a look. "Lisbon, do you think I would have suffered myself to be arrested by anyone but you?"

She stopped short. "What?"

"I could have run after I killed Red John. Instead, I called you so you could come arrest me."

She shook her head mulishly. "Jane, I was already there. I was going to arrest you anyway."

"Yes, but the point is, if it weren't for you, I would have escaped."

"Right. Just like that."

He raised his eyebrows. "Such skepticism, Lisbon. You know I could have done it."

"And then done what, exactly?"

He shrugged. "Not sure. Gone to Mexico, maybe. Sipped mai tais on the beach. Gotten a tan."

"Mai tais on the beach? You'd have been bored out of your mind in two days, tops."

"Clearly, you are missing the point, Lisbon," he said with dignity. He was perfectly capable of entertaining himself. He was sure there were suckers in Mexico, too. Or other murderers to entrap, at the very least. He might have enjoyed having free reign to hatch his schemes without worrying about all those pesky CBI regulations. Although riling up violent criminals probably would not be advisable without Lisbon and her gun to bail him out of trouble when the occasion warranted. And it wasn't as though he actually did worry about CBI regulations. That was what Lisbon was for.

"What exactly is the point?"

"The point is, me getting arrested was a compromise."

"A compromise," she repeated skeptically.

"Yes. You wanted to play things one hundred percent by the book and arrest Red John. I wanted to kill him. So we did the first part my way. The second part I did by the book- letting you arrest me and going through the whole dreary business of the trial without even putting one of several brilliant escape plans I came up with into use. Fifty percent your way, fifty percent my way. Compromise."

"You could have died, Jane. With your fifty percent. You just ran off without telling a soul, and I had no idea if I was ever going to see you again. Do I—the team—do we mean so little to you that you were prepared to throw it all away to achieve your precious goal of killing Red John?"

"On the contrary," he said softly. "You mean that much to me that I was willing to risk whatever it took to keep you out of harm's way."

"Get real, Jane. You can dress it up all you want, but the bare fact of the matter is that vengeance meant more to you than the people who care about you."

"Look, maybe there's a chance you could have convinced me not to go through with it—the vengeance part, I mean- if I could have believed that putting him in jail would have stopped him from killing anyone else."

She looked utterly disbelieving. "You think I could have convinced you not to kill Red John?"

"Maybe. There was a small chance. Maybe about three and a half percent. But we'll never know, because the goals of vengeance and the protection of others led to the same end and can't be separated from one another at this point. As long as he was alive, he never would have stopped killing, and therefore, it was necessary for me to kill him. And I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to learn to live with that."

She laughed bitterly. "Just like that. Because you say so. Sure, Jane. No problem."

"Not because I say so. Because that's the way it is." He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "Can you honestly tell me there isn't a part of you that is glad that Red John is dead? That part of you isn't upset with me not because I didn't tell you what I was planning, but because you're afraid that I would have been able to convince you to help me carry it out if I had?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "I… didn't think that."

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to be ashamed of feeling relieved that Red John is dead. He was an evil man."

She sighed. "I am glad he can't hurt anyone anymore."

"Me, too. As to the other thing, you needn't worry, Lisbon. I wouldn't have been able to convince you to abandon your principles for me, even if I had wanted to."

She looked at him sharply. "How can you be sure of that?"

He shrugged. "I know you, Lisbon. You would have chained yourself to me and sat on me to keep me from going after him, and then you would have sent about six SWAT teams to storm his hideout. You'd have had Cho lead the command in your place because you wouldn't have trusted anyone else to keep me out of trouble."

She relaxed infinitesimally. "That sounds like a sensible way of handling the situation," she said, sounding pleased with his assessment.

Tentatively, he circled his arms around her. She didn't hit him, so he took that as encouragement and inched closer to her. "And you would have yelled at me." She let her head fall against his shoulder and something warm snaked its way through his chest. He breathed deeply. "A lot. For being foolish enough to even consider facing a serial killer alone."

"You would have deserved it," she mumbled into his chest.

"Undoubtedly," he said soothingly, feeling relieved that she hadn't pushed him away again.

She lifted her head up and scowled at him. "You're not off the hook yet, you know."

His eyes widened innocently. "For what?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "The kissing?"


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews of this story. The feedback means a lot to me, and I really appreciate everyone taking the time to review.

There is actually a bit more to this story, but I decided to publish the rest of it as a separate story because it is so radically different in tone than most of this story. In other words, it is 100% fluff. So while this is the conclusion to the angst fest of 'The Arrest,' look for the completely frivolous sequel soon - I will probably start posting it over the next couple days.

xxx

"Oh, that," he said dismissively.

She stepped away from him and crossed her arms across her chest, looking irritated again. It really was one of his favorite looks of hers. "What do you mean, 'oh, that?' Why did you do that?"

"It was the least I could do, really."

"The least you could do?" she echoed. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Really, Lisbon, I could hardly leave such a blatant declaration unanswered."

"What declaration?" she said.

"Must we go through this again?" Off her blank look, he took it upon himself to remind her. "Your whole courtroom bit."

"The bit which you referred to as a cunning scheme to manipulate the jury? That bit?"

"It was a scheme, but that doesn't mean it didn't have a seed of truth in it. I must say, I'm deeply flattered that you feel that way about me, Lisbon."

Her eyes narrowed. "Feel what way?"

"That you're in love with me, of course."

"I'm not in love with you."

"Of course you are. It was written all over your face. Fifty strangers can attest to it."

She shook her head. "Okay, I admit I may have slightly misled the jury into thinking I had feelings for you so they would be sympathetic towards you, but that doesn't mean I'm in love with you."

"You're a terrible liar, Lisbon. I admit that in the past you have shown the potential to make a passable actress, but if that was a performance, it was Oscar-worthy. There is simply no way you could look at me like that unless you meant it."

"You're reading more into this than there is."

"Perhaps. It hardly matters, in any case."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, even if you technically aren't in love with me now—which I'm reasonably certain you're lying about-it's only a matter of time."

"Right," she snorted. "Because you're so irresistible."

He fixed her with a look. "I *am* irresistible. Do you seriously believe that you would be able to resist me if I decided to commit all the resources I have at my disposal to the task of making you fall in love with me?"

She looked alarmed. "All the resources you have at your disposal?"

"Yes. I have charm, good looks, and above all, diabolical cleverness on my side."

She smirked. "Yet I've managed to endure all these years in your presence without the least inclination to swoon even once."

"Well, yes, but now that Red John is out of the picture, I'll be able to devote my full attention to the matter. Mark my words, there will be swooning in your near future, my dear."

She shook her head. "I would have to be insane to fall for someone like you."

"Insane? That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"You're difficult enough when it's only my professional life you're wreaking havoc on. I can't imagine the chaos you'd bring to my personal life."

"Your personal life could use a little shaking up, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you."

He looked as though he were pondering something. "I've been out of the dating game awhile, but I think I remember the essentials. I'll need to do something to distinguish myself in the eyes of my competitors, of course, so they understand you're off limits now."

"What competitors?" Lisbon said blankly.

He snapped his fingers. "I know. I'll pin you."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes narrowed. "Hey, if anyone in this relationship is going to be doing any pinning, it's going to be me." Too late, she realized the implications of what she'd just said and turned a shade of crimson Jane had never seen before. "I meant—"

His blue eyes were laughing at her. "Thank you for that insight into your sexual preferences, Lisbon, but I was actually referring to the tradition of a young man giving a girl his school pin to indicate to the rest of the world that they are an item. You know, going steady."

She blinked. "You want to go steady with me?"

"Yes, that's what I've been saying. You seem to be having some trouble keeping up."

"You don't have a school pin."

"I could get one."

"You never went to school!"

"Meh. A trifling detail. I will get a pin, and you will wear it."

"Because you think you and I are going to be going steady," Lisbon clarified.

"Exactly."

"Not happening, Jane."

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"Well-reasoned. You can't expect me to take your rejection seriously if you can't even come up with one valid argument against the idea."

"This is completely ridiculous! I'm not going steady with you. Who even says that? What are you, seventy years old?"

"I could be your gentleman caller, if you prefer. Or your suitor. Your swain."

"No, you couldn't."

"Again, why not?"

"We work together."

"So what?"

"No offense, Jane, but I don't think I could handle you being around 24/7. At least now I can go home at the end of the day and have a few minutes in peace where I can drink a glass of wine without being interrupted by some crazy scheme."

"Nonsense. You'd get used to having me around."

Lisbon imagined him poking around her apartment and analyzing what the placement of items on her shelves revealed about the secrets of her soul and shuddered. "The brass would never go for it," she said to distract him.

"Don't be silly. You know I'll be able to convince our superiors to sign off on us as a couple."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And why would you want to do that?"

He looked at her. "Obviously, because I am in love with you, too."

"No, you're not," Lisbon said decisively.

"I certainly am. You're pretty irresistible, yourself."

"I told you, you are not irresistible, and I'm not in love with you."

"Of course you are," Jane said dismissively.

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"Because when I kissed you earlier, you kissed me back."

"I pushed you away!"

"Yes, you did. But before that, you kissed me back."

"I did not."

"Did too."

She scowled. "Did not."

He grinned. "Did too."

Realizing she was unlikely to be able to win a game requiring childish stubbornness with Patrick Jane, Lisbon shifted tactics. "Even if I did, it doesn't mean I'm in love with you," she said defensively.

He smiled. "It's not conclusive evidence, I grant you, but it is compelling. You aren't the type of woman who would kiss a man like that unless you really meant it. The topic seems to be distressing you, however, so I'm willing to drop it for now. Let's talk about something else."

"Great," she said, relieved. "What do you want to talk about?"

"What was your high school mascot?"

She blinked. "My high school mascot? The fighting bumblebees."

"The fighting bumblebees, really?" he said, taking no trouble to conceal his amusement.

"Yeah, so?"

"Aren't school mascots supposed to inspire fear and feelings of intimidation in the members of the opposing school?"

"I guess. What's your point?"

"It's not very menacing, is it? The fighting bumblebee." He pursed his lips. "Your school colors were yellow and black, weren't they?"

"Yeah."

"That's too bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you played sports in high school, didn't you? Probably had to wear those hideous jerseys as part of your uniform."

"What of it?"

"Yellow can hardly have been your color."

"I look fine in yellow."

"No, you don't."

Lisbon didn't think she owned a single article of yellow clothing upon which he could possibly be basing this opinion. "How the hell do you know?"

He shrugged. "Yellow isn't anybody's color. Looks awful on nearly everyone."

She huffed in exasperation. "What's with your sudden interest in my high school mascot, anyway?"

He shrugged. "As you said, I don't have a school mascot of my own. If I'm going to pin you, it seems most appropriate to borrow yours for the purpose."

"Wait, you're still talking about that whole idea? I thought you were going to drop this."

"No, I said I would stop talking about you being in love with me for the time being because it was making you uncomfortable. I never said I would stop talking about my intentions towards you."

"Right. Cause you're madly in love with me," she snorted.

"Precisely."

"Jane," she said kindly. "You and I are close. We spend a lot of time together. Now, you've been through a lot, but trust me, convincing yourself you're in love with me is not the answer to what you're going through."

He looked at her, amused. "Really, Lisbon? You think finally killing Red John prompted me to have a psychotic break which has caused me to have delusions that I've fallen in love with you?"

"Not at all," she said primly. "I just think you've been under a lot of strain. You shouldn't feel rushed into feeling like you need to make any major life decisions right now. Give yourself time. Get settled back into your normal life."

"Ah, I see," Jane said knowingly.

"You see what?"

"The source of your resistance is clear now. You're worried I'm going to change my mind and run off in a panic. That's not going to happen, Lisbon."

"I'm just saying, what's the rush? You have plenty of time."

"Lisbon, my life has essentially been on hold for the better part of a decade because of my commitment to bringing down Red John. My desire to move forward with the next phase in my life is not a desperate need to fill a void in my life by any means possible. It is merely an indication that I'm not willing to give up one more minute of my life to Red John than he's already taken from me." He maneuvered himself closer to her once again and rested his hands lightly on her hips. She looked down at his hands as though bemused to find them there, but didn't immediately push him away, which he considered to be a good sign. His hands tightened on her hips and he leaned swiftly down and stole another kiss. He didn't give her time to react this time, though. He slipped past her and into the passenger side of the car before she knew what was happening. She was still standing there, trying to get a handle on what had just happened when Jane stuck his head out of the window. "You coming, Lisbon? I'm famished. I could really go for a sandwich and a cup of tea."

Grumbling to herself about people who could think about their stomachs at a time like this, her own stomach gave a traitorous growl. Sighing in defeat, she dug her keys out of her pocket and walked around to the driver's side of the car.

She got in and didn't look at him as she turned the key in the ignition.

He grinned at her. "How bout that sandwich?"

"Fine," she said. "But you're buying."

He beamed. "Naturally. Now that I'm courting you, I will be paying for all of our meals together. I'm old fashioned like that."

Courting? Where did he even come up with these words?

"Never mind," she said swiftly. "I'll pay for myself."

He ignored her. "Also, I'll be showering you with gifts as part of my efforts to woo you."

Oh, God, what had she gotten herself into? She'd been devastated by what he'd done and after less than twenty minutes back in his company he'd already worn down her defenses and convinced her to forgive him. Not that she would tell him that, of course. Bastard probably already knew anyway.

And now here he was, happy as a clam, determined to focus every ounce of his considerable charm and wit on the task of convincing her to fall in love with him. She thought of Jane anticipating her every mood and knowing instinctively what to do to make her feel better for every one of them. Thought of him tricking her into spending more and more time with him until she got so used to him consuming her free time that she forgot to resist. Thought of him stealing kisses like the one he'd just planted on her. Lingering because he'd know she wouldn't be able to stop herself responding to that white hot feeling pooling in her stomach she'd felt when he kissed her earlier.

She aimed the car towards Marie's, hoping they could beat the afternoon rush and planning to order the biggest cup of coffee available. She was going to need every ounce of strength she could muster. Caffeine was going to be critical if she hoped to fortify herself for what was to come.

One thing was clear. She was in big trouble. Patrick Jane had decided to woo her. And even when all odds seemed against him, he always seemed to get his way, in the end.

The End


End file.
